


Challenge ficlet #2

by ninamalfoy



Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M, unbetaed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-19
Updated: 2010-07-19
Packaged: 2017-10-10 16:23:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/101725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninamalfoy/pseuds/ninamalfoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompts: 'I like toast, not toes.' and 'Why?'<br/>OTP: Surprise OTP - the Metzelly</p>
            </blockquote>





	Challenge ficlet #2

**Author's Note:**

> First posted on LJ on December 2nd, 2006.
> 
> Not true in the least bit. I'm just borrowing their public persona to play.
> 
> Challenge ficlet for ciryatan.

They're in bed. Actually, they should be out of it, but that's not the point right now. Metze's lying atop Basti, his eyes closed against the bright sunlight spilling over them. He has woken earlier when Basti pushed him aside to relieve himself and again when Basti crawled back into the bed, draping Metze's arm over him. The bed's too small for both of them, but they don't really mind. Not when they can be together like this, soaking up the other one's warmth, their skin damp, and at liberty to touch each other in ways they can't do outside, not ever. Like Basti's hand resting on Metze's ass, a warmheavy weight. Metze's nose squished in Basti's neck and his hand curling around Basti's head, the fingertips touching the hair. Their legs entangled, calves resting on shins and thighs in between thighs.

But then the phone rings. A shrill tone, and Metze winces. Damn. He stretches a bit so that he can reach the phone, Basti mumbling something.

"Are you awake?" Dick. And Metze sighs, his eyes meeting Basti's clearblue ones, still half-lidded. "Yeah, I guess we are."

"We've already started with breakfast, get yourselves down and snatch a bite before we head out to training, Christoph - and don't sleep in again," van Voort's voice booms in his ear, and Metze rolls his eyes at Basti. "We will, Dick. Sorry." A click and he places the phone back onto his holder.

"Good morning," Basti says, smiling faintly. "Guess we have to get up."

Metze nods. He doesn't want to, actually. He wants to stay in here all day with Basti. He wants them to order breakfast to be brought up here, and to feed Basti with bits of fruit - pineapple, perhaps, or grapefruit, or these tasty apples they had yesterday, and to lick sweet marmalade off Basti's chest, or honey. That would lead to a lot of stickiness, and then they'd relocate to the shower and, well. "Why?"

Basti blinks, surprised. "Why - well, duh. We can't exactly skip, can we?"

"I wish we could," Metze admits, "I wish we could just spend the whole day in here."

Basti's eyes take on a determined glint. "I like your way of thinking - really, I do. A lot."

Metze chuckles. "Glad to see that we're on the same page. But let's head back to reality now," and with these words he scoots out of bed, but not before dropping a kiss onto Basti's lips. Shit, it's cold. At least there'll be hot water in the shower.

Steps behind him. Basti. "Let's shower together - this way we'll do something good for the environment," he whispers into Metze's ear as he reaches out to turn on the shower, and then cold water splashes over them, drowning out their surprised yelps and Metze's curse before he manages to turn the dial back to the original position.

"Damn it," Basti sighs, "now my dick's so not in the mood for anything."

Metze looks down. "Well, same with me. And seeing as we're already late enough, it's probably for the best," he adds with a wry smile.

After the hot shower, they're back in their room and pulling on their sweatpants; Metze goes commando as always while Basti has put on tight boxers beforehand. The obligatory BVB training jerseys follow, and the rest, and then they're off, but not without Metze checking in the mirror one last time. Basti rolls his eyes at him. "Come on, it's not as if the people downstairs are gonna vote you out of the team when you turn up with a hair out of place."

Metze just grins at him, he has heard all of Basti's mutterings already ("Half an hour in the bathroom? Metze, women need _less_ time than that." - "Should I call up Beckham and tell him he's got a worthy rival over here?" - "Even Torsten doesn't have that many hair products!") and just bears them good-naturedly. It's what good friends do, after all. They walk down the hall to the lift in silence until Basti breaks it.

"Listen - it doesn't have to be a dream."

Metze looks quizzically at Basti, pushing the button for the first floor. "What? Which dream?"

Basti returns his look with a waggle of his eyebrow, a small smile on his lips. "Well... you know, sleeping in. What you said."

"Oh," Metze says. "What - should we do this tomorrow? When we have the match?" He raises an eyebrow at Basti, stepping into the empty lift. "I bet Bert would really appreciate that."

Basti rolls his eyes. "No, you dickwad. I meant - like, sometime, when you come to Lahrbach. To my hotel," and he's blushing a bit now, "and we could have a double room, and I'd bring up something to eat, and -"

Metze smiles. They're standing next to each other in the small cabin so that he takes Basti's hand in his and squeezes. "Thanks."

Basti shakes his head. "The things I do for you." But it isn't said in a mocking tone, but a warm one.

As the lift's door slide open, their hands drop back to their sides. Metze winks at Basti as they approach the door of the dining room. "Especially when it concerns my toes."

Basti laughs, their shared look rekindling memories of _that_ evening. "Yeah, but now my tastes have changed," he retorts, opening the door and nodding to Bert who's tapping the face of his watch, frowning at them.

"Sorry, the alarm clock didn't work," Metze calls out, and then he's coming to stand next to Basti at the buffet, which now looks rather demolished as their team mates were here already. "You don't like my toes anymore?"

Basti's busy heaping butter packages and sausage slices on his plate. "Yeah - right now, I think I like toast, not toes." And with a wink at Metze, he puts four toast slices on his plate, followed up by two rolls.

"I think my toes are lucky that they're not facing the same fate as these toasts," Metze says, lifting three slices of Emmentaler on his plate to join the three rolls, the butter and the nutella that have found their way on there already.

Basti snorts as he moves to sit at the adjoining table - all the other tables are already empty, their team mates apparently already off to training with Dick, and it's just Bert sitting over there, talking to someone on his cell in low Dutch. "Yeah, and there's also the fact that your toes are far too bony. Not really as nutritious as toasts."

Metze grins, slathering butter on his roll. "You'd have to fatten me up, then."

Basti pours tea in two cups and drops a sugar cube in one of them before he slides it over to Metze. "Nah. There are _way_ juicier parts of you," he says in a low voice, his wicked grin broadening as Metze flushes. Damn. Basti always _knows_ how to jerk him around.

But then, that's the way they are. Him and Basti. And he wouldn't want it any other way, ever.


End file.
